Lots of people can do observations. I mean, anybody
whose dog doesn’t take them for walks can see. I observe that, if I had known about the Boogeyman’s talent
for removing cancerous tumours, Kylie Minogue would probably now be giving me ass all the time.

Lots of people can be cynical. Take a look at TWF
forums if you don’t believe me. Alternatively, watch an episode of Will and Grace, and write down the stuff that comes
out of your mouth. See, anyone can be cynical.

I do not understand this. If Daivari and Angle already
hated each other, how the HELL is it a double-cross! He hasn’t screwed Angle, he’s just done the obvious thing
and sided against him! Bet Stephanie regrets hiring Rain Man now… although he is probably the brains of creative. He
can count to five for a start…

And a fair few people can even do satire. Imagine
if the WWE did an American Idol…

Simon Cowell:- Next!

(Enter Lita).

Simon:- Okay…
Lita, what are your talents.

(Lita pulls her trousers down, and removes a ping
pong ball from her pocket)

Simon:- Okay! Okay…
Jesus Christ okay.

Randy Jackson:- Dawg…

Paula Abdul:- Don’t
be cruel. She’d be pretty with a little more make-up. And a few less steroids…

(The judges piss themselves collectively. The laughter
dies very suddenly when they realise she is serious.)

Simon:-… get
out.

And that is why I wont be bothering with satire…

But NOBODY ON THIS FORUM HAS EVER ATTEMPTED TO
DO WHAT I AM ABOUT TO. Yes, for the benefit of you kind, unkind, and plain fucking mean people… I am going to attempt
to turn a non wrestling fan into a mark.

I roped a guy from my university in. Promised him
a few bags of chips next time he got the munchies.

And so join me in this guest column, which shall now
be known as THE DUNGEON. Because we like to stretch things here too. Namely jokes. Made up by Sean, Harry or James…

I decided I needed to show him an acclaimed match;
one that had work rate, impact and skill, but no major bumps or such, as that would be cheating. Anybody would mark
out for Foley in HIAC, for example.

I decided upon Kurt Angle vs. Chris Benoit, Royal
Rumble 03. Just to prove Benji Duncan wrong. (Nip down to the forum and check this shit out. It kicks all kinds of ass.) Benji,
Todd Grisham is on the phone man, and he wants his fucking GIMMICK back.

I have used a bit of poetic license. I couldn’t
write fast enough to take it down word for word…

We start off the match with ‘You
Suck’ chants being directed at Team Angle. Angle comes down to the ring wearing his gold, and all is well… until
Michael Cole talks, at which point Paul cracks up and says, ‘wow, that guy sounds like he’s had his arse infiltrated
by Heidenreich one too many times’. Well, no, he didn’t say that, but he made a comment about Michael Cole sounding
gay. Told you I would use poetic license. Kurt, Shelton and Charlie all touch foreheads, and this is not going to plan at
all. ‘Men in tights, and now they are kissing!’ The match hasn’t even started yet and I am seeing wrestling
in a new light… one in which men in tights touching each other IS actually gay. I am tempted to turn it off, and give
it up as a bad job, but I stick by my guns. I will convert this son of a bitch.

Out comes Chris
Benoit, and Paul says, ‘God, that guy has four shoulders!’. Never noticed that before, either, Chris‘ neck
muscles are HUGE, where the hell does he inject that stuff… Hey, who the hell is converting who here! Back on task,
Chris rolls into the ring, and… Charlie Hass pushes him. Like a girl.

Paul says, ‘What the hell is that! Punch him,
you fucking queer!’, I die a little inside, and upon questioning, admit that Charlie Haas could have punched him, as
the bell hadn’t rung at this point. Charlie, you may not have punched Benoit, but you punched me right in the soul.

It is with squinted eyes I continue to
watch one of my favourite matches, as three tiny referees eject two muscular wrestlers and Paul says, ‘Okay, why
don’t the ref’s wrestle if they are as tough as the wrestlers? This is bollocks.’ Tim White rolls in his
grave… or he would do if he could actually reach it. If these skits continue for much longer, I’ll give the guy
a hand. From the top of a very large building. With a very large gun… The bell rings, and we are off. Maybe now I can
STOP agreeing with Paul. Jesus, it’s hard to suspend disbelief with Mr Lateral Thinking sat beside you.

Major intensity here, as they lock up, everything
looks very technically sound. Angle rolls out of the ring to buy a bit of time, and just as I think things could start to
look up, Cole starts talking about a ‘scuttlebutt’. Thank you Cole, you are ruining my life. Paul laughs, calls
Cole an arse, the intensity in the room is instantly lost.

It is at this point I realise that I
might as well be serving ham sandwiches at a Jewish wedding. (Sorry Witzdude). We have to face facts, as wrestling fans, the
ability to suspend disbelief is easy. But to some, it just doesn’t come as easy. The first person I asked to watch
a match with me turned me down, and said, ‘now go away. I’m watching the X Files.’ And that is what
we have to put up with on a daily basis, people. Prejudice. Blue isn’t the new black, wrestling fans are.

Paul doesn’t seem to be seeing
the magic in the technical wrestling, saying it is ‘just two men flailing around on the mat’ and begins to ask
why they don’t just punch each other in the nose, when Kurt Angle makes the save, by throwing Chris shoulder first through
the turnbuckles and into the ring-post. Paul actually winces, one point for wrestling.

The guys are stiffing
each other now. Inevitable gay joke when I use that phrase in front of Paul. Then he says, ‘when they bounce each other
against the ropes… why don’t they just stop running?’ Because THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE REAL, YOU
COCK MUFFIN! Instead I say something about momentum… and then Chris Benoit hit’s the SWEETEST DDT ever seen onto
the ring apron, and Paul shuts the hell up. Deny that, bitch. Angle’s nose is fucked. Paul wants to say that he didn’t
make contact, but they show a replay that shows he clearly did, and Paul wishes he had a Socko to shut him up, and somebody
stood waiting with a towel to hide his shame. Well, there is always some daft twat with a towel for Mae Young!

Paul seems to be hooked now. Kurt Angle
hit’s a great looking belly to belly and throws Chris from the ring. It’s looking good now. I’m breathing
sigh’s of relief. Kurt is DOMINATING now, Paul is smiling, I’m smiling, the job very may well be done! He even
stifles a giggle when Tazz refers to Kurt as Kurt Benoit, and gasps when they hit a double stiff double clothesline. Only
one thing holding me back now, and his name is Michael Cole. I HATE you, Cole. Paul says, ‘Why does he keep talking?
The guy sounds like Matthew Perry on Helium’. I think to myself, ‘Let Sean Carless tell you the carnivore story!’,
but said nothing.

Chris Benoit unearths about half an ounce of
nose juice into the ring, and Paul does a Grisham on me, questioning if it is fake, claiming, ‘nobody has that much
crap up their nose’. Well, I wouldn’t say nobody. I’ll show him a Triple H match next week, and let him
judge. Chris goes up to the top rope, Kurt does his Spiderman run up the ropes, Paul says, ‘FUCK’, and I know
I have him now.

Chris gets Kurt in the Cross-face, and
Cole squeals, ‘he’s a finger away from the bottom ropes!’. Paul says, ‘you are one penis away from
being a woman.’ Well, yeeeeees, Paul. We all are. Unless we are women. I start to think that wrestling fans are cooler
than non-wrestling fans, and decide to get some-one wittier next time. This is like having a conversation with Canadian Bacon.

And this is the point where Chris Benoit
hit’s the best German suplex I have ever seen, Kurt flips ALL THE WAY OVER, and Paul marks out! Fuck yes, this match
is tried and tested people. This shit works. It doesn’t get much better. Paul is actually really sat on the edge of
his seat, saying HOLY SHIT, and now Benoit is flying fourteen feet across the ring. And I have done it. Mission fucking complete.
I didn’t think it would be this easy, but Paul is actually loving it. All except Michael fucking Cole. DIE COLE, DIE
A PAINFUL DEATH.

The ankle lock is applied, Angle leg
scissors, Benoit taps, and Team Angle come out. I was worried about this. Charlie Haas helps Kurt out of the ring, getting…
a good feel of Angle’s ass. I actually have to show Paul a picture of Jackie Gayda to convince him that Charlie is straight,
and even then he decides that it is all a huge cover up, and her name is the clue. DAMN YOUR STUPID NAME AND MY FRIENDS IMMATURITY!
GO TO HELL!… or TNA, either way you will probably see Jeff Jarrett.

And we have success people! You can convert
a non-fan into a mark by showing him an Angle-Benoit match, as long as you mute the sound, fast forward over Charlie Haas,
and suspend disbelief. Oh, and as long as Michael Cole doesn’t exist. Let’s hope for the future non-existence
of Cole. Let’s hope he does a Jerry Lawler, and leaves because the WWE took his partner off the payroll.We miss
you Heidenreich.

This has been The Dungeon, you have been kissing
my proverbial ass, and I have been FUCKING great.

With Christmas just around the corner, what better way to spend your few remaining dollars (left over after the seemingly infinite line-up of fucking pay-per-views ) then on the following "quality WWE merchandise!" After all, if they don't move this stuff, and fast, stockholders just might get time to figure out what "plummeting domestic buyrates" means!... and well, I don't think they need to tell you what that means! (Seriously. They're not telling you. Everything is fine! Ahem.).